


Why can't you just be a normal brother?

by yayitsus



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anger, Bed-Wetting, Blood, Blow Jobs, Boy gets bad-touched by his Mentally Unstable brother, Comment Plz, Dry Humping, Emetophilia, Emotions, Extremely Underage, Grooming, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Beta Read, Omorashi, Pedophilia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Assault, Sibling Incest, Sick Character, Somnophilia, Underage Rape/Non-con, Vomiting, Watersports, Wetting, Whump, bruh moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26604946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yayitsus/pseuds/yayitsus
Summary: I'm scared of my brother.He's been acting really strange. Some days I can avoid him, and other days I can't.  And on those days when he's not normal, I can only hope that he's mean. The days he's nicer are even worse.__Sam is a typical 4th grader; he loves school and his mom and dad, but when it comes to his teenaged Brother Frank, Sam is terrified. Sam learned that not to draw his brother's ire, he has to be quiet and as small and unassuming as possible. Most importantly, Sam learned to be agreeable; Even when Frank makes him do things that make his tummy feel funny.
Comments: 30
Kudos: 190





	1. Tiny Breaths

**Author's Note:**

> Someone suggested that make a vent fic about my experiences. Here it is. Use it as you please, however you please. Please comment about what you think, may that be prompts for future works, future chapters, fixes, or even yucky comments. I appreciate them all. Thanks!  
> **Note, comment and tell what me what age you think the characters are** (I'm curious, and it'd help my writing)

When I got home from school, Mom's car wasn't in the parking lot. I don’t know why, but I felt that weird sinking feeling in my stomach and my throat felt tight. Not like a sore throat, but it hard to swallow, and when you breathe it’s weird? It’s like that. 

When I got to the door, Mrs.Richardson waved at me from across the street. She’s always tilling, pruning or whatever she does tools around the same time I get out of school every day. I waved back. My Mom asked her to watch me until I went inside, as a “kind gesture to make sure a neighborhood kid went home safe”. Something like "It takes a village to raise a child" and all. 

What a load of garbage, I knew there would be no village to help me here. 

I entered and shut the door behind me  _ really _ slowly. I tried to not make a sound, so I could do some of my super-hearing. I breathe tiny tiny breaths and try not to move. 

And I could hear him, The shuffling footsteps and the mumbled voice that reverberated through the house-- that sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

It was my older brother, Frank, ever-walking, and ever-mumbling especially on days like today. I don’t know what made him this way. It could be because it was a sunny day. or because it was a school day. Anyway, it’s probably It’s something we don’t’ know about-- well, something  _ else _ that at I don’t know about. The only thing Mom says that he used to be very different from how he is now, but I can’t remember much, and what I do remember is all fuzzy. 

But the Frank I know speaks aloud, to someone else, like they are really there. Someone else, but you can’t see them he says. I wish he’d cut it out. I don’t like how he acts when he gets like this. His eyes look all faraway, and even when he talks to you he doesn’t  _ really _ look at you. He does other weird stuff, but I don’t want to think about that. I just want to avoid him for now. He’d always get so agitated- so  _ angry  _ that being around him didn’t feel safe.

In the entryway, I knew his circuit through the living room, kitchen, and dining room would eventually lead him to me. I slipped off my Jacket and bookbag, stopping and starting again to take them off silently. I started toward to stairs, avoiding the creaky floorboards.

I finally breathed out on the second stair. I only had 13 more stairs to go, I’d run up the rest and-

“Sam!” 

I looked at him, eyes first, and I then I turned my head. I got caught. 

Frank was smiling really wide, he looked about as big as dad, who was the tallest person I know. I know I’m going to be as tall as him one day, but Mom says I have to wait a few more years, for the whole adam’s apple, growth spurt, puberty-- gah! I don’t want to think about the rest of the conversation. For now he just towers over me, and he’s still pretty big from when he played football. 

“Sam- Sammy, how was school?” He walked closer, and closer and hugged me, really tight. I don’t think he took a shower today. 

So it was one of those days. Most time when he walks around, he has a blank look on his face or he'd get angry if he saw you. Other times he acted pretty weird if he saw you, oddly nice and happy. Like he'd be super touchy feely.

One day when he was feeling angry, he chased me around the house with his football cleats on, yelling “Stop running!” and “I’m going to stomp on your feet!”. Of course, I ran then. But today I could tell he was weird. That’s what makes me nervous because I don’t know if it’d be better to run, or to play nice. 

I looked at his face now. His eyes were hollow, and his smile was strained, and his skin was stretched tight across his face. I didn’t want to make him angry so that instead of a smile his teeth were bared, and his fists were pummeling me. 

I choose to smile back. “Hi, Frank.” That sounded strained, I needed to sound happier. “School was great!”

I was relieved to see that his smile didn’t change. “Good, good. Come to my room.” Before I could say anything, his hands were already on my shoulders leading me to his room, and we were already at the door, and then in it.

The Click-clack of the door that closed behind me made my heart jump, and I could feel my palms start to sweat.

I hadn’t been in there in a while, but for the most part, the room remained the same besides the clothes, and empty food containers littering the floor. His trophies were still there, as was the huge Star Trek poster on the wall. He and Dad bonded on that front, but I never really got a chance to do the same. 

He practically pulled me on to the bed and began to excitedly talk about what whatever game he was playing, but as soon as I got a grasp on what he was talking about he switched to the next topic, whatever machine he was working on that would eventually come to save the world, fantasy, or whatever anime. I wasn’t about to stop him and ask for clarification, and I just nodded, and “wowed”, because I wanted to keep him happy.

My head was spinning trying to keep up with what he was saying as each topic melted into the next. But I snapped to attention when I felt his hand on my thigh in a way that made my stomach quiver. I caught the tail end of his jumbled speech, “She’s so hot, I just jerked it all night.”. He observed me for a second, and I felt myself shrink. “You know what that means right? Don’t lie,” he warned.

I knew what that meant, so I nodded. I wasn’t a little kid, and I somehow felt that if I did lie, he’d pummel me. I just wanted to leave, and all I could focus on was his hand. I didn’t like it. “You jerk off before?” I shook my head no. He kept stroking my leg, and said “That’s fine, you’re just a little behind the curve.” In my head, I was kicking him, punching him, and then running back in my room, but in real life, I was just staring, smiling awkwardly. I wanted to leave.

He jumped off the bed, relieving me of some of my stress, and went over to his computer. In a few clicks, he started playing a video. A guy putting his “down-there” in a woman’s “down-there”, over and over. It looked fake. The woman’s eyes were closed, and she was yelping, making sounds like she was in pain but she wasn’t .. stopping him? She was smiling. My entire face felt hot, so hot that it made my head kind of hurt. My stomach felt really weird. It felt a little childish, but I put the heels of my hands into my eyes.

This was weird, really weird. Why is Frank showing me this?

I was so focused on the video, that I hadn’t noticed that my brother was beside me with his hands down his pants. When I did notice, all I could see was the fabric of his boxers moving rhythmically. I didn’t say anything.

Frank was staring directly at me. “So Sam, what do you think?” he asked in a kind of breathless voice. I feel weird, let me go to my room is what I wanted to say, but instead, I just said “It’s... fine.” I didn’t want to be in the same room anymore, but I didn’t want him to get in one of his moods again either.

“You see what I’m doing?” He asked. I nodded. “Good, good. Give me your hand,” he commanded. I froze. What was he going to do? Frank, by the look on his face, seemed kind of annoyed, so he just grabbed my hand, and planted in on the front on the crotch of his boxers.

I just looked at him in confusion, as I felt the warm almost hot head radiating from him into my hand. That was his penis. He was hard. I got hard too sometimes, but not from anything like this. I chose my words carefully, “Frank, what are you-”. Frank Interrupted. “Shh. Just be quiet.” 

For the next few minutes, the only sounds in the room were Frank’s loud exhales, the rustling of the fabric of his boxers, and the moans of the woman in the video. Faster, slower, and then faster again he moved my hand against back and forth, using it as his own. I just wanted to leave: the video was still playing and the sounds were embarrassing. The weird feeling only heightened, and I could only try to ignore the fact that my brother was using my hand to “jack off”. He was pushing himself into my hand with his hips and making a weird face.

Suddenly, he pushed my hand and held it. The boxers under my hand became moist and even hotter. He held it there for a few moments, before releasing my hand back to me. My hand was red by how tight he squeezed it.

There were a few moments of silence before he slapped the laptop with the video shut.

When he looked at me again, his happy attitude was gone, and his eyes looked full of hate. Completely black. “Get out.” He said. I didn’t hesitate.

I can’t say I thought about how weird it was until after Mom came home, I called dad on the phone, had dinner, had a bath, and I was already in bed. Frank stayed in his room the whole time.

I looked at my hand, and I feel how warm it was. The moistness. The weird feeling in my stomach happened again, and my head started to hurt. My brother was just weird. Nothing I can, or should think about. He’ll do weird things. Because he’s weird. I turned over, and put my pillow on my head to block the thoughts out. Whatever. Mom’s home now, so he’ll calm down. He won’t do anything like that again.


	2. Things that go "bump" in the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment about what you think, may that be prompts for future works, future chapters, fixes, or even yucky comments. I appreciate them all. Thanks!  
> **Note, comment and tell what me what age you think the characters are** (I'm curious, and it'd help my writing)

I woke up that night with a heavy feeling on my chest and feeling very warm. I tried to ignore it and fall back asleep until I heard heavy breathing go across my ear.  
I freeze when I realize that there’s someone else in my room. In my bed.

Is it Dad? Maybe he came home early and missed me, so he decided to sleep in my room.  
That warm thought is shattered when I can feel an errant hand grabbing at my front: my crotch.  
I know it’s my brother. Maybe because it’s the same smell as before, and just because I know.

When he grabs me there, it feels like I have to pee. But I just stood still. As his hands touch more and more, the weird feeling in my stomach makes my breath come in fast.

“You’re awake aren’t you?” The voice beside me groans.

I don’t answer. Maybe I really am still asleep. This may not be happening.

“Okay then, you won’t mind will you?” He gets closer and closer until I can feel it. The same hardness that I felt earlier today, but pushed against my pajama bottoms.

His hand doesn’t stop. Either his hand must be moist, or I must be sweating alot because it feels very wet. The feeling goes right up to my head and makes my head feel fuzzy, confused. And hot. All of me is hot, I can’t tell if I’m sweating because I’m hot, or I’m nervous. I hope I don’t pee.

The hardness bumps into my butt and keeps moving back and forth, back and forth. That pliable hardness then moves in between my legs. He uses his other hand to hold me even closer to him, and he pushes hips so that we’re stuck as close together as possible.

And so begins a steady rhythm, of him pushing himself against my but in between my legs. His hand continues to fiddle around and even goes underneath my pajama bottoms. The direct touch is too much, and I gasp. I really am going to pee. Do I tell him? I stopped wetting the bed two years ago, ignoring the brief resurgence when dad started leaving for longer times for work. I don’t want to do it now. But I can’t speak. The only thing coming out of my mouth are gasps. His hand only moves around more, pushes against my bladder in this weird position, and I know it’s going to come out.

He groans and pushes more of he weight onto me, and rubs himself between my legs. “Close your legs tighter,” He commands. I comply. I don’t want him to get angry, and I hope that it makes me have to go less. He rubs faster, and now he’s starting to take shorter breaths. His hand only pushes harder, and before I can do anything about it, a little pee comes out.

I try to turn around, see if there’s any hint of anger in my direction so I can expect a fist my way, but he hasn’t made a face, and his hand keeps moving, and so the pee keeps coming slowly, and then in a steady stream despite my frantic attempts to get it to stop.

I know he knows now, but rather than stopping and saying how disgusted he is, he actually picked up the intensity, he himself now wet by the urine he's rubbing himself into. He pushes faster faster, faster, and then--! He stops. More wetness is added to the puddle now in the middle of my bed.

I want to cry because I hate it. I won’t because Mom is asleep in the next room, she might hear. The wetness around cools and becomes disgusting. Frank heaves off of me, and shuffles into the next room, leaving me in my bed, alone, wet, and confused.

I don’t have a clock in my room. Mom usually wakes me up in the morning. If I wait for morning, how many hours would it be? Would Mom know I wet the bed? Would she know why Frank did this? Would she know that Frank did this?

I don’t want her to know. Mom’s stressed enough with work, and Frank’s problems. I shouldn’t add another one. And Frank wasn’t even that bad this time. He didn’t hurt me.

I say that, but tears were still falling down my face for some reason. I just went to the bathtub, with a blanket and slept. The same M.O when I wet the bed in years past. And so, I waited for the sun to come up.


	3. Sam's Good Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frankie's looking almost normal today .. that's good.. right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, there will be: A Non-con BJ. Comment edits/suggestions/requests please, and thank you!
> 
> I wrote this while halfway in my Bio Lecture, and halfway in my studio design class. I hope what I wrote wasn't a waste of that time (lemme know what ya'll think ya hear?) :P

Even though I was sitting at the kitchen table, with my fork in hand, rather than scarfing down the waffle in front of me like I usually would have, my fork only hovered and fell only to occasionally stab the squares full of syrup.

I wasn’t hungry. My stomach was knotted up, and all I could think about was that night last week. That night, I sat in the bathtub in my wet pajamas until Mom came and found me there.

I woke up with a start, embarrassed not only because she found me there in that state, but also because I hadn't had enough sense to take off the pajamas and change. Stupid. In the hours that passed, the fabric stuck to my skin and filled the room with the smell of urine (which strangely reminded me of the smell of syrup before me). But even if Mom couldn’t tell, I knew where the other smell mixed in was from. From who. From whatever that came out that made me even stickier.

I must have gone beet red, even though I can’t tell when I do, because she didn’t even get mad or ask why or how it happened. Mom’s tired all the time, but she still helped me clean up my bed and clothes. It was still pretty early that day, so she let me sleep in her bed for the rest of that night, just like when I was younger. 

But unlike those days as a toddler where I’d fall asleep, faster and deeper than I ever could have alone, I felt uncomfortable; tears pricked at my eyes for a reason I couldn’t explain. Mom being there should have felt good, but I just stayed up, thinking. I thought about how even if she did ask me how it happened, I’m not sure if I’d be able to tell her. What would I say besides the truth? I couldn’t control myself. I wet the bed. And that funny feeling in my stomach made me do it.

Now that it’s been a week, that weird sequence of events feels like it happened to another person. At night when I tried to sleep at first, I’d wonder if he'd come in the room again, and I’d watch the door all night. 

But then again, maybe it didn’t happen at all. 

Maybe I just dreamed it up, and wet the bed then and then sleep walked to the bathroom? I didn’t want to have a dream like that again, so I stayed up later and later, watched the doors more, listened closer to the floorboards. But most importantly, I tried not to think.

If I think, my head hurts; so I don’t. That was the plan up until Frank trudged down the stairs and decided to join us for breakfast it seems for the first time in weeks. 

I watch him cautiously out the corner of my eye. 

Frank wasn’t wearing the same dingy sweats, and he didn’t smell so off so that I could smell him where I sat.

He was even smiling, at Mom at least. He told her that he was going to go to school today. Mom was a little wary-- Frank’s mood can turn on a dime after he comes back, good or bad. A few moments of silence from Frank, and Mom allowed it. She probably had bigger things to worry about.

Frank stopped going to school regularly, especially in the last year or two. They don’t tell me anything, but I heard mom and Dad talking-- well, more like arguing about how they heard about their son’s behavior from a secondary source, a teacher rather than noticing it for themselves. 

Talking to himself, having arguments and fights with his teammates and even random students. Reckless behavior, and his grade were all used as evidence. After that, I didn’t see Frank for a couple of days. Mom said he went to a hospital, but I was just glad to be free from him for a few days. She seemed really sad, like she was surprised to know of Frank’s behavior.

I wish they just asked me. I could tell Frank was different. Weird. He wasn’t always speaking to the air, but I’d hear him yell while everyone else was asleep. I was the one when he got mad, he punched in the face. I was the one who was scared first. But no one cares because “siblings fight”. Fight, and what else? Do siblings touch each other? 

Now, I couldn’t even chew breakfast before me, now that he was here. Mom was already whizzing around getting ready for work, so I didn’t have to worry about finishing it in front of her. As I watched her morning scramble to get ready, I accidentally caught Frank’s eye.

His eyes were full of something I couldn’t tell what. Was he angry? Hungry? He saw I looked up from my plate, and gave me another one of his smiles, skin stretched tight, eyes completely black. “Sammy.”. That was all he said, and I couldn’t help but jump out of the seat.

My mom saw me march to the car, and remarked slightly amazed “Well you’re on-time today.”.  _ Yes, yes I am, so please get me to school as soon as possible. _

**_-Hours Later-_ **

I walked home from school, another cool fall day. Mrs. Richardson was still outside, though I’m not sure what plants she’d be cultivating this time of year. I waved, and turned the key to the lock, and stepped in the house.

Today, I walked in, and I actually heaved a huge sigh of relief. Frank was still in school, which meant I had at least an hour to myself if he headed straight home, or maybe even 3 if he had football practice. Score! 

By then, mom would be home, and I’d be fine-

A bolt of pain went through my head--  **mom being here didn’t help you last time.**

I tried to massage the thought out of my brain, and it kind of worked.

I felt free.

I ripped my coat and my bookbag off my shoulders, and flopped on the couch. The clock on the well ticked and tocked, and I felt fine. No tiptoeing, no holding my breath. And no hearing shuffling, mumbling, no fake smiles, no hands. 

With a start, I realized that I felt hungry. I rummaged through the fridge and found disappointment, before I found a can of beans. I can’t explain the excitement I felt , as I pulled that easy to open tab (Can openers are way too hard to turn) and dug in a spoon, and I sat back on the couch and turned on the television.

We didn’t have any fancy cable packages, so the news was enough. I felt so good. So relaxed it seems for the first time that week. So relaxed that my eyes started to droop, and so that I didn’t even notice that I fell asleep.

....

...

....

I woke up to the sound of roaring.

Not like a tiger, or an engine of a plane, but one which immediately brought me to my feet, and got my heart beating like a hummingbird's. The roaring source was an animal, and its name was Frank. And Frank was angry. 

My body went into action. I decided to make a beeline to the stairs so I could get out of his way, but just like last time I got caught. A giant-sized hand grabbed my short curly hair, pulling at the roots tight so that I yelled out in pain. I was thrown to the ground, and from there it’s like I was seeing him for the first time. 

He was bigger. Angrier than last time. My mind was racing.  _ What did I do? I must have done something. _ “I’m sorry! I’m sorry-” He grabbed my face and brought it close to his. Being so close to him, I could see it in his eyes. This morning’s Frank was façade, but that much was obvious. He held me there, forcing me to look straight into black eyes, and so that he could look into my huge darting ones, before he let me go.

I dropped to the ground like a ragdoll, and stayed there. I wasn’t going to move unless he told me to. All of a sudden, he started laughing. Hard.

_ Oh God. Had he really gone crazy? Was he finally going to kill me? _

Rather than bringing his foot down to finish me like a thought, he pulled me up by my shoulders, which was very easy due to my size and stood me up. _ Huh? _ The look on my face must have been priceless by the way he was laughing. 

“I was just joking, lighten up, will you?” He chuckled. I was just about ready to cry, I was so freaked out. Then again, I didn’t want to get hurt anymore, so I faked a laugh with him. “Y-yeah, haha”. 

“Why don’t you go sit down?” he said, more of an order than a request. I walked toward the couch like a wooden puppet. He sat down right beside me, a little too close for my liking.

“You know what Mom said to me?” I shook my head no. “She said, that you’ve been looking off lately, that she was worried--” he started laughing hysterically in the middle of his sentence, and he ruffled my hair-- my head still hurt from when he pulled it. “She said that she was worried I had hurt you.”

My mind was moving a million miles a minute to try to come up with an answer Frank would appreciate. He interrupted my thoughts. “But that’s not true, right Sammy?” I nodded yes, feeling a little sick.  _ So I worried Mom too, huh? How did she know?  _ The hand in my hair suddenly gripped tighter, but I dared not make a sound.“You’re saying yes to I’d never hurt you, right Sammy? Not that I have?” 

“Never! I uh- like being around you!” I stammered. I hope the look on my face didn’t betray my words, but he just smiled, and let my hair go. “Good, good. I could tell you liked it. Haha, those little sounds you made were so cute.”

I froze. His huge hand squeezed my thigh, just like he did before. “You didn’t forget did you? You helped me out, so I repayed the favor. You really liked it. You “liked it” all over the bed, and “liked it” on your clothes, and the sheets.” My face was burning red hot. In my head, I argue and say I didn’t, I didn’t like that funny feeling that made me lose control, but I just shut up.

He slid even closer to me. “But Sam, I had a rough day. Real rough.” 

He gestured wildly in the empty room. “They just keep on  _ talking _ , and making so much noise. You know?” “I can’t focus. Then I walk to the _ fucking school,  _ just for people to treat me like I’m some  _ invalid. _ And then I hear you don’t like me. From Mom. You see how that could make it worse? Did you consider how I feel?”

I wasn’t sure what the right move was. Speaking to him was like walking across a minefield in one of those old war movies Dad likes to watch. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time.” I whispered. I really would. I had to act more normal so that Mom wouldn't be worried.

“Good. Because of what you did, you have to pay  _ me  _ back now _.” _

I hope my face didn’t reveal how confused I felt. _ Wait, for what? I don’t get it. It doesn’t make any sense. _ The taste of the inside of my mouth soured. “Do I have to.. touch you again?”

His grip on my hair tightened, as the obvious answer.  _ Yes. I will. _ He stepped out of the gym shorts he always seems to wear despite the chill autumn air, revealing his boxers. He quickly removed the boxers and revealed himself in full. I hadn’t seen an adult’s penis except for that weird video he showed me, though technically Frank was not yet an adult. I felt it before in my hand, but seeing it in full was unexpected. It stood out like a flag, with hair wrinkly skin in places where I didn’t have them. Something about the way it wobbled, and the smell that slightly burned my nostrils made me shudder.

And like last time, he started touching himself, but this time in full view. I watched as he put his hand around his dick, and kept moving it back and forth: the same way I remember him moving my hand last week. 

I felt the urge to go to sleep so I could pretend this was a nightmare, or so I could wake up. The urge to stop experiencing, but of course, I couldn’t even close my eyes without angering him.

He grabbed my hand, and like last time used it to do small strokes back and forth. This time I noticed that his skin felt like velvet covering hard metal. Like last time it was hot, and friction between us only increased the heat.  _ How could he like this? Has he ever done this before?  _

Through clenched teeth he hissed "Open your mouth”. Confused, I just did, just about as wide as I do to speak. He grabbed my jaw, and opened it wider, definitely straining some muscle I didn't know I had. I didn’t protest much more than I made a small sound.

“You’re going to lick it.”. He said. 

Thinking about licking him made me want to gag. 

“So what? You do hate me? You don’t want to do it?” He asked. He was getting agitated. I didn’t want to do it, but I hated pain more, so I just did it. I swiped my tongue against his skin, and held it out. He was getting frustrated. “Retard. I meant like this--” and he pushed himself into my mouth as much as cheeks would allow.

My head immediately recoiled, and I could see that he enjoyed the discomfomfort. He pulled out, and pushed in again, turning my stomach and making terrible gagging sounds resound through the room. He didn’t seem to care about the large amounts of spit freely flowing from my open mouth, running down my face, and his thighs, all over the hair between his legs.

He pushed the entire thing into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat, painfully irritating my skin. Every time he pushed in, or out my throat convulsed as I fought the urge to vomit.

I fought and I failed. My stomach gurgled, tensed up and then my after-school snack of beans was on the now being let out, half onto the living room floor, and half on myself. 

Frank gave me a second to catch my breath _. He'd have to stop now right? _ , I assured myself. 

I’m disgusting, the smell of my sick was trapped in the room, wafting around us only adding to my nausea.But no sooner that I caught my breath, he was back- -he was back inside of throat only pushing my head closer to his pelvis until my nose was in his pubic hair.

In and out again. My hands trying to push him away were ineffective. More than the fear of his punches, the primal urge to breathe was more pressing. He was going to let me suffocate here, covered in my own vomit. As it kept going, my grip on time went away. He thrusts, and thrust some more in me, faster and faster then I hear a roat, not unlike the one I woke up to. He held my nose as snot-stuff shot into my mouth all of once, making me choke all over again.

He pulled out.

And there on the floor I lay. I’m not even sure if I was conscious yet. Moving was not an option yet as breathing in and out took all of my energy. I heard a chime play: it was the clock.  _ Was it 6? 7? Would Mom be home soon and see this mess? _

I hadn’t noticed he left, but Frank was cleaning up the floor with paper towels. I know I still smelled like vomit though. 

I opened my eyes again, and the floor was cleaned up. My throat was on fire, and I felt so tired and shaky I could’ve just laid there all night. But Frank pulled me up again by shoulders until I stood.

“Gross, clean yourself up.” He pushed me in the direction of the bathroom. “You see what you made me do? And I even had to clean up after you because you couldn’t control yourself.”

I had no thoughts.

“You’ll pay it back in full when you tell Mom how much you like me.” He said that and walked away, leaving the room as quiet as before he came home. 

I started to answer, but my throat was too much, so I just nodded. I started to feel some feeling, like the one before you have to scream in a horror house, or when you watch a scary movie. It builds, and builds, and then you just scream, you know? But before it reached that point, it just died. I couldn’t scream. or even think right now. There was no time for it when I had to clean myself before Mom got home. I had to be the normal one for her.

And so I cleaned myself up. Mom gave me a lozenge for my sore throat. And then the day ended. It was over.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Pushy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's watch a movie together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will include: Dry-humping, omorashi (Thank you commenter for the suggestion!)  
> Once again, if you have suggestions, a fix, or general feedback I'd love to hear it. :D

“Frankie, I’m really really proud of you.” Mom was beaming, and in her mind, she had good reason to. Frankie has been going to school semi-regularly now, and he just got his report card back. No failing grades: to my mother, a testament to “Frankie getting better.”.

She called him Frankie just like me calls me Sammy. Maybe I used to call him Frankie too, but now the name wouldn’t come out of my mouth. I wanted to tell her that I wish that she’d stop calling me Sammy. Big kids don’t have nicknames like that-- is what I’d tell her, but the truth is that Frank calls me Sammy, especially when he is particularly “affectionate”, or teaching me something. Hearing the name filled me with a feeling of dread rather than the warm feelings it originally intended.

A lot of things that didn’t use to bother me seem to bother me now. Hearing doors open and closing, the scrape of houseshoes against the floor-- but it’s mostly the touches. My teacher Ms. Henderson put her hand on my shoulder during a demonstration in class. Apparently, she said I looked like I had seen a ghost, and I was standing stock-still. I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking at the time, all I knew was that I could hear my heartbeat in my ears going faster than a jackrabbit, and in my head, I could feel a storm rolling in. But I don’t mind being weird at school, I just wish I could act normal at home.

I can take Mom’s hugs most times. Once she hugged me from behind-- I couldn’t tell it’s her, I flinched hard: I covered my head and shut my eyes. She made a really sad face, I don’t know why-- I just know I don’t want to see that face again. So I’ve been practicing, staying still and quiet even when my heart is jumping out of my chest. Even when it’s not Mom, and the touch really is scary, showing less of a reaction is better for me. Frank doesn’t like to see me looking scared.

Anyway, I hope she isn’t worried. Seeing my Mom’s brow furrowed makes me feel worse than anything I ever felt. I’m glad I listened to what Frank said last time after I “paid him back”. I told Mom that me and Frank were doing alright and that I like him. Mom seemed a little surprised. When she asked me why I wanted to let her know, but I just told her the truth-- I didn’t want her to worry.

I thought since I listened to Frank, that if I did what he said I would have paid it back in full. At this point, I’ve even forgotten why I even had to in the first place. But of course, I always mess up. I always end up doing something  _ stupid _ that makes Frank upset. Or, I don’t do enough to make him feel good.

Since that day last month, I’ve been trying to be good. That night, I decided to not feel it, to forget all the weird feelings, everything I didn’t understand. My sore throat got better in a few days, and I could speak even earlier than that, but I didn’t.

I knew that however, I was acting after that night in my bedroom, maybe my words, my eye contact, how I looked, made Mom worry and in turn, it made Frank angry. I thought if I shut all the weird feelings that made me act strange, I could make everyone happy. Or at least not make Frank mad, so that I could just sink into the background.

Frank didn’t like that I think. I was too sad, too gloomy. He said I was adding to his stress, which in turn meant he had to do something about it. I didn’t really get it, so I just my best to ignore him so that I would in turn be ignored. That was until I couldn’t anymore.

One day, I had to go wee after class: I had drunk a lot of water after recess. I never quite got around to going; I dilly-dallied, talked to my friends, picked up a stick, and before I knew it I was halfway home. . I knew that the high school lets the big kids out early some days, though I wasn’t sure why. I wished that I remembered that before heading straight home.

Of course, I got shocked when I opened the door to see Frank, half-sunk into the couch. I froze there in the doorway just staring down at the lunch bag in my hand, waiting for either permission to enter, or to be totally ignored: another sign I could slink into the door, and up into my room until Mom came home.

Instead of either of those options, he just sat there with a glazed look in his eyes, and his eyes never left the television screen in front of him. When he finally noticed me, he gave a grin, and a simple “Sit over here.”. He didn’t have to yell: the threat of not listening was implied. I slowly took off my backpack, coat, and shoes and trudged over to where he sat. I started to sit by his side, but then he stopped me. 

“No. Sit here.” He gestured to his lap. I paused and looked at his face while something in my mind was yelling at me to run away. His eyes were unfocused, not like the completely black ones from that night. They weren’t the clear eyes either that showed me who my brother one I sometimes got glimpses of. Was he sane? Or was he going to do that weird stuff again? Every situation that I’ve been holding back from thinking of flashed through my mind, the touching, my bedroom, his _ thing  _ in my-

“Now.” he said it softly. Despite that softness, I knew there was no leeway, and so I did, uncomfortably. I finally noticed what was playing on the screen,  _ Monty Python.  _ Something Dad liked, I was sure. I knew that we had a DVD player, but we hardly used it so I was surprised to see it in operation.

Despite my attempts to focus on the movie playing, I was very aware I was sitting on a person, especially when a large exhale tickled the hair on my back of my neck making it stand up. Then, Frank’s huge hands went between my arms and squeezed my torso. I could feel every breath of the sentence “You’re all bones.”, he whispered. It made me shudder. He laughed when he felt that too. 

_ Was.. He was hugging me? _ Arms wrapped around a person are often read as a hug, but to me being squeezed tighter felt more like a Boa constrictor. I learned about that in class today. Frank was the snake, a predator, and I was just a mouse about the swallowed whole. About then his squeezed made me remember the cause of my previous haste to get home-- my bladder. Every further squeeze from him increased the risk of another spill.

Frank held me tighter. I tried as much as I could to focus on the movie in front of us, so his voice from behind surprised me. “You know, I got this movie out because I wanted to laugh. I wanted to feel happy.” HIs voice suddenly turned low. “You don’t look happy, after all I do for you?”

I was confused. _ All he’d done for me? Mom takes care of me.. and Dad takes care of all of America so we can’t see him that often. What has Frank done besides make me scared, And mom worried. _ I think I was angry. I was scared that what I might say wouldn’t sound right, so I decided to stay quiet.

“I’m just supposed to go to school like it’s normal? When they’re all yelling, yelling.” His voice was increasing in volume. “I want to feel good. I deserve to. You owe me.” He finished the last sentence with a growl, and squeezed me tighter, putting a dangerous amount of pressure on my bladder; I’d do anything for him to stop. “I’m sorry, I- I’ll do it, I'll make it right” I said.

His formal glazed look was replaced with one of purpose, and one that I knew meant trouble. “You sit up a little.” He said, and so I did. And then I felt what couldn’t be felt in the previous position he held me in, the bulge in his pants that apparently could only find relief by me touching it. I guessed, from what happened previously on that day in my bedroom, he’d do what and waited for him to move my hand. I didn't care at that point, I just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, and hopefully to a bathroom.

I fully focused on the movie: focusing on that made it easier not focus on what was happening below my waist. I hoped he’d finish quickly so I’d leave, but I was not expecting his next words to be, “take off your pants. Now.” I was confused, but I quickly complied. The faster the better. He then pulled me by the hips onto his lap, his penis pressing directly between the cleft of my but. 

The feeling was unexpected, and I simply hoped I looked as if I were focusing on a wall rather than the surprise I felt. And like that, he rubbed lightly between that cleft. Suddenly his hand grabbed out, and clutched my crotch again, like last time.

My voice took on a funny tone, and I made a short “Ah!” sound before I shut myself up. Mom wasn’t home, we didn’t have any nosy neighbors, but making those sounds in front of Frank was humiliating, and I felt my face burn hotter than it already was.

Frank looked curiously before he did the same move again, this time I had greater control over my vocal exclamations. He waited a few moments, then he jabbed his fist directly onto my bladder, forcing another yelp from between my lips.

I couldn’t see his face, as he continued rubbing me from behind, but I could have guessed what sick smile he was wearing. “You got to go again huh?” He pressed into me again. “What the fuck is wrong with you? With your tiny.” He pressed again “Fucked-up” He pressed harder again. “Bladder,”

Tears were now in my eyes at that point, and my body felt entirely too hot. Frank was enjoying himself, he busied himself between my cheeks, alternating between using light rubbing, and rubbing directly between, causing a peculiar sensation that only added to the other stimulation around my body.

While I tried to hold onto my sanity, and pee, Frank was enjoying himself judging by his heavy panting in my ear. He sawed up and down, all while pressing at different times. He pressed harder at some points, completely making it impossible to not focus on anything but holding my bladder, and only pressing lightly, but never letting me forget what was happening. 

We might have been two-thirds through the movie, but I couldn’t tell you anything about it if you asked me. I was covered in sweat, Frank was reaching a point of no return. He long stopped gently swiping back and forth, but now was fully rutting onto me like an animal in a nature documentary. I wasn’t much better, my mouth was hanging open, tears in my eyes, and the sounds that come out my mouth weren’t stopping even if I willed them to. 

With a few great pushes onto my front, the first squirts of pee finally spurted out. Despite desperately clenching my muscles, a heavy gush ended the effort, and I relieved myself on the floor in front of the couch.

Big tears came down my face, because I knew I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t stop myself. It came out. And then, big sobs came out. Behind me, Frank pushed a final time, where something wet and very warm spread through the fabric on my underwear, and directly onto my skin. 

Frank still held on for a moment, before letting me go. 

Frank started laughing, a mad smile with his hands across his hips. 

“Good. Finally something funny. You couldn't stop yourself, huh?” Frank said, raising his voice. It hit me because he was right. I wasn’t another fabricated insult in the schoolyard, this was entirely based in fact. 

Frank peered at the mess I left, and sneered and walked away. I realized that this time it would be me to clean up everything. The world was blurry with my tears as I cleaned up my mess with paper towels from the kitchen. I stuffed the dirty towels in the bottom of the kitchen trash, so they can never be seen or smelled. I was still in the underwear with the white snot-stuff on the back. I’m just glad I didn't pee on my clothes this time.

And when it was done, Frank came back, and got angry again for my bad job, and made me clean it up again. I’m bad. I know. 

That night I went to sleep early, and I slept until it was time to go to school the next day. How did I feel after that? I don’t know-- I don't remember. And I don’t want to remember or need to remember. Like I said, remembering just makes me act weird. If I forget, everything’s better for everyone. Frank’s getting good grades, going to school. Mom smiles. So I won’t think about it. I can do it. I will. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! PleAsE ComMent sO I cAn MaKe ThIs FiC BetTer PLEASE. This fic in un-beta'd so ur all I got <3  
> *Seriously, I'd really appreciate it. Also, I love to see any sort of comment, new prompt, or suggestion


	5. You're sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter Features: Graphic Rape of an Underage Person 
> 
> Hey ya'll, thanks for reading up until this point! This is the concluding chapter of this story! Let me know if you want more an ending where Sam gets help, cause honestly, this is a bleak note to end on.
> 
> As always, I'd appreciate any comments, reflections, anything that resonated with anyone, fixes, or any suggestions! I love ALL comments :)  
> Thank you so much!

I was trying to keep my eyes open, eyes on the teacher like I should but it was incredibly difficult. We were learning about waves. Not waves like in the ocean, that make a “shhh” sound, or the wave you do with your hand, but about light I think.

Was it a particle of a wave I can’t remember, or honestly even focus on what my teacher Mrs. Henrdon was saying. It seemed like everytime she started talking time would skip, and the kid next to me would shake me awake. I couldn't help it. I felt more tired than I ever did in my entire life.

When I woke up again, Mrs. Henderson was standing over me when a concerned look on her face. She put her hand on my head and exclaimed “Uh oh, you’re burning up!”. Burning up? I was confused, but my head felt so fuzzy but this time I thought to ask what I meant, Mrs.Henderson was already across the room calling my mom.

Uh oh. Mom said if she ever got a call from school, we’d be sorry. I thought about how I’d stop the call, or explain myself when my Mom got here. I didn’t want to be in trouble. Mrs.Henderson walked me to the office where as soon as I sat, I time traveled.

When I opened my eyes, Mom was there talking with the front desk lady. I prepared myself for her snapping at me for getting a call from school, but instead, she looked at me with a concerned look and spoke in a quiet voice. “How’re you feeling, Sammy?” I didn’t know how to answer. “Sleepy.”

She took my hand and led me to the parking lot. I hadn’t been around here before. I wondered if my teacher’s car was in this sea of cars, or if she walked home like me, or maybe she even slept in school. When I got in the car, I time-traveled again home, and then to my room. Mom must have carried me. 

Mom made me drink something that tasted terrible, but I drank it anyway to make her happy. “Shhh,” she hushed, just like ocean waves. As I lay here, mom was just staring at me, before her phone in her pocket started to ring.

She had a short, but intense conversation with her boss, I assume. When mom turned back around she looked at me apologetically. “Sam. I’m going to have to leave now.” She scrambled to put some items by my bedside, medicine, oranges, and water. “Sam, if you need anything just call me.” 

She hesitated before leaving, and just stared at me a few more moments with guilt in her eyes, “I can’t leave you alone.”

We don’t have family where we live. We hopped from place to place before settling here for my Dad’s job. We’re lucky that my mom’s a nurse, a job that is always in high demand. But there were no aunts, no uncles, or even friends that My mom could call for help with a sick kid. 

“Look. Frank’s going to take care of you.” Mom said. My stomach dropped like I was on a rollercoaster but without the fun. “He’ll be home in about 30 minutes."

I wanted to protest, to tell her that I would be fine on my own, but by the time I got the words ready in my foggy brain, she was already out my bedroom door. 

My panic did not die, even though I was so tired. Even so, I fell asleep, and time traveled again,: this time to the door opening.

It was Frank. 

“I heard you were sick” He then walked to, and then sat at my bedside. “I’m going to watch you today.” He said that staring directly at me, with a wicked smile. “All day.” 

I had no idea what he was playing at. My grip on reality was way too loose to even begin to parse it, so I just stayed quiet and pulled my blanket up to my nose.

I was too hot, but the blanket offered some order of protection that I felt naked without so I just held it there and sweat. Frank’s eyes never left me. I hated it when he smiled. Before I was confused about whether it was a good thing or a bad thing, but now I know for sure it’s always bad news.

Despite the inherent danger of the situation, before I knew it, I was asleep again. When I woke up again, Frank was unbuttoning my shirt.

“What are you-”

“Relax, you just looked so sweaty. It looked uncomfortable.”

I shook my head. “I don’t mind, could you just-”

Frank Interrupted me. “I”m taking care of you. Why can't you just be grateful?”

I shut up. I realized that being sick wasn’t going to get me out of anything. He then unbuttoned my shirt. It’s true that losing the shirt felt more comfortable, but that was negated by the way Frank was staring at me.

For the past month, Frank has consistently been like this. I’ve come to expect it. For the most part, he’s just the same bully that he always was: always being mean, and making fun of me.

He never forgot to mention each time that I couldn’t hold in my pee to embarrass me. Or in private mention how I sounded like a girl when he was touching me. The hits were preferable, because for the most part, I could avoid them. But then some days, he started wanting me to sit by him, to “Watch movies together”, which were just excuses for him to touch me all over. Excuses to make me touch his dick, so he could make weird faces. Excuses for him to make my throat hurt, which I hated the most. I could have dealt with everything else, but when he wants me to lick him in that place, I hate it because it makes me feel like I’m going to die. He doesn't stop even when you tell him to, and I’m never strong enough to push him off. He just pushes my head harder, opens my mouth wider, and makes me sick.

I thought I’d be stronger. In my class, I can do the most push-ups out of anyone in the pacer test. Then again, when it came to running, I get beat every time. Is that why this keeps happening? Because I’m just not strong enough?

That was especially true now that I feel all weak and hot. “Put your butt up,” Frank said. I did, but Frank shook his head disapprovingly, and then grabbed me and forcibly pushed it into the air. With his other hand, he peeled off my pajama bottoms. His hands always gripped too hard.

“There, better?” he asked. I wasn’t so hot, but I was still shivering and sweating. I just nodded and tried to pull the blanket back over me, but Frank stopped me.

“Don't. It’s better for you this way.”

Better for me, or better for you to look at? I thought. But of course, I listened and just shivered on top of the covers while Frank examined every part of my body with his eyes.

Frank smiled, as if he remembered something. “Mom told me I have to take your temperature.”

He went out the room, and then returned again with a thermometer. 

“You know how this is done right?” I nodded and opened my mouth, but Frank just laughed at me. “No. It goes up your ass.”

My face contorted reflecting how messed up I felt. Of course he wasn’t actually taking care of me, it had to be something weird again.

Frank told me to get on all fours. He slid my briefs off, and the cool air made me inhale sharply. I felt exposed and very gross. Being sick already made me feel terrible, being like this just made me shiver even harder.

In a swift motion, Frank uncapped the thermometer and aimed it toward my hole. He then pressed the cool glass of the thermometer in. I instantly yelped, and jumped up, though shakily. I felt like a shock-- like electricity was connected directly to my brain.

Frank tutted. “ Tsk. Didn’t work, huh.” He thought for a few moments. “I know what to do,” he said, then walked over to the vaseline on the counter, and rubbed it over the length of the thermometer. And for some reason over his finger.

I turned around again, my hesitation making me extremely jumpy. I felt him push again against my hole, but rather than the coolness of the glass of the thermometer, I felt skin.

My head whipped back around to find Frank sticking his finger in my butthole. He used little motions at first but eventually, he put his entire finger in there. It felt obtrusive, not like pooping at all. I had no idea why he was doing this, isn’t it disgusting? That’s where I poop from. But then I remembered, he didn't care about my pee or my vomit, and he seemed like he was even egged on by it.

Why would this be any different?

I just wanted him to stop. “What about the Thermometer?”

“You’re too tight for the thermometer. This way, I'll be able to tell how sick you are.” I knew he was lying, the thermometer was way thinner than his finger. Even so, It didn’t matter that I knew he was full of it- he just kept pushing his finger in and out. In and out. It felt like I had to poop but in reverse. I tried to push him out but he didn’t care, or maybe he couldn’t tell.

I felt him pull out his finger. He then presented his finger to me. “Look at how dirty my finger is. Don’t you know how disgusting you are?” I felt extremely embarrassed. Of course, it was gross. Fingers weren’t supposed to go up there, but still, he was right. I was disgusting.

“You’re sick alright.” He shook his head. “Yeah, you are. I can tell by the smell. This should help. “ He pulled out some lotion I didn’t see earlier and plunged a whole lot on his hand. It did smell nice, I could recognize it. It was mom’s lotion. The one she uses when Dad comes back sometimes to “doll herself up” for him. I thought she looked fine, and definitely smelled fine normally, but whatever. Anyway, I knew this lotion wasn’t for Frank to use. 

“Frank, you know we can’t use that, that Mom’s-”

“Shut up. I’m doing this for you, you know? Don’t you want to get better? Besides, Mom doesn’t have to know. And she won’t.”

Truthfully, I didn’t care if I was sick forever. I just wanted Frank to get away from me. Nothing he said made any sense, it never did. But I knew to argue would be fruitless, and the sooner he’s done with me, the better. 

“Alright.” I said.

He then proceeded to shove his finger back into my body. Time, I was expecting the intruding digit so it went a little easier, especially with all the lotion he put in there. I could feel he put another finger in, but I just closed my eyes tight and tried to ignore it. He kept on with that a little while, and when I suppose he was satisfied, he put a third in. That felt like my limit, and my eyes snapped open. It hurt, like my muscles were being stretched. Before, it only burned, and I could just shut my eyes tight breathe through it. But this was unbearable. 

With all the fingers crammed in, I could feel his fingernails scraping me from the inside. The lotion he used probably had some fragrance that stung like little cuts, but inside of my body so the pain was magnified. I tried to move my hips away from my hand-- to escape the pain so that it wouldn’t hurt so bad, but that didn't stop him. He kept moving his fingers in and out. His other hand was on my back, pushing me down into the bed. My muscles hurt, and I was exhausted. Each time he went in, all my muscles shuddered, and I couldn’t help but whimper a little.

It hurt, It hurt, and along with my sickness, it turned my stomach. I couldn’t even sit with my but up as he commanded anymore, and I could only sink down limply into the bed. He said nothing, but his breath behind me was loud and heavy-- He was enjoying this. I kept my eyes shut tight, but I could imagine what a wild smile he had on his face. 

I have no idea how long he kept at that. Him doing little movements with a finger or two and then forcing all three in at once making me almost scream. I was too tired at this point to do anything about it but lay down and hope the universe would destroy me in that spot, and let me die. After a while of that, he removed his hand. 

And so I lay there, sweating, shuddering and breathing, eyes closed until I felt the weight on the bed shift. A voice whispered right next to my ear. 

“Sam. I have to put the medicine in, okay? I have to put it in real deep.” He said that under a veneer of care, but I could tell he was excited. 

He was a liar. All he does is lie. I wasn’t dumb. But what could I have done? I just laid there and cried hot tears into my pillow. 

His hand spread more of the lotion, with the smell I’d come to hate forever over my hole. Then, I felt it. I had come into contact with that thing, so often when I felt it graze my hole I knew it was his dick. Not “Penis” like mom called it, Frank wanted me to call it his “Dick”, so he took his “dick”, and in one motion pushed it into my stretched hole father than his fingers could stretch.

It was worse than the fingers, worse than all the nights of touching, or licking, or even when I felt like I’d choke to death on his dick. My entire body reacted, in an unequivocal “NO” as I fought to spring off the bed, but his hands held me down as he finished the motion and pushed his full length inside of me at once. 

His penis was buried in my body, and I must’ve cried or yelled out because he pushed my head into the mattress so that there was no sound. I screamed, because all I felt was pain. Like the burning, the over-stretching before, now it felt like something “broke” in me. My mind for sure, but the burst of pain convinced me I was injured. 

Frank was incredibly heavy. He kept pushing in, and coming out, and only increased his speed. The lotion helped his movements, but looking back, my blood must have aided this. I was already ill, but this pain made me dizzy. He never slowed down, and only pushed into me faster, harder, and deeper. I couldn’t help but yelp, but all of my cries were muffled into the mattress below. Every time, he pushed in, I shook and screamed.

It didn’t last long. After a few strokes of him slamming into my body, he held me close and then let out the same sticky warmth inside of me.

He pulled his dick out of me, but the pain didn’t stop. There were no thoughts in my head. I was far too exhausted, and the pain I was in just made me want to go to sleep. I was so tired.

Frank stood. I couldn’t even focus on his face, my head was so woozy. 

“Shit.” Frank paced back and forth. “It’s not my fault, alright? If you weren’t so-” He kept talking, but I couldn’t focus on his words anymore. I reached my hand to my injured area, and it came back red. Blood? I couldn’t think well, though I tried to stay awake, I fell unconscious.

**~Time passes~**

I woke up a little while later with a change of scenery. I was sitting in the bathtub, stripped of my clothes at an uncomfortable angle. The shower was on, but it was slightly too cold. I tried to move, to turn it off, but the small act of moving shot pain through my legs, up my back, and to my head. I chose just to sit back down and accept that this is where I’d stay.

I remembered what happened earlier. I knew why it hurt so much. I had no idea what to feel emotionally. Even though I just woke up, I felt exhausted. I was still sick and that contributed, but I felt so much worse knowing. 

From the hallway I saw Frank hauling my sheets to the laundry room. After a few minutes, I heard the washing machine start, and then Frank walked into the bathroom I was in. Frank looked harried.

“Hey, how’re you feeling?” Frank questioned uncaringly.

I felt too sick to talk. I felt like death, but my instincts developed from living in this home came out, and I was able to give a small smile, which probably looked more like a grimace.

Frank came over, grabbed a washcloth and threw it at me, and said “Clean yourself up.”. I felt so weak that I could hardly grab it. Seeing my feeble movements, Frank looked alarmed. 

“Fuck. I went too far this time.” He snatched the washcloth out my hand, grabbed some soap and roughly scrubbed my skin. I needed to go back to sleep, but Frank manhandling me didn’t let me. “Turn over.”

I didn’t know how I could move without not hurting myself, so Frank basically did it for me. He stood me up, and grabbed the detachable showerhead, and aimed it right toward my butt. I knew he had seen it all before, but I was embarrassed, and I hated him for looking at me. The water hurt, but it was soon over after the red circling down the drain turned clear. 

He led me out of the bath and started drying me off with a rough towel. “Look. I- I did too much today. Before Mom gets back you have to look fine.”

I had no idea how I could do that in this state, and it looked like Frank knew it judging by the look on his face. 

“Well, at least you’re sick. It’s not all me.” Frank then half-dragged me to my room, with newly outfitted sheets. As soon as I hit the surface of the bed, I fell back asleep. 

Whatever happened after that is a blur. I know I was given some medicine at some point, because I awoke to some bitter liquid being forced down my throat. I protested briefly before giving up and swallowing. It’s not like I’ve haven’t been forced to swallow worse. It was easier to go back to sleep after that. Even so, every time I moved, I felt immense pain radiating from below my waist. 

All the same, I eventually did fall asleep. Fever dreams are always weird, but the ones I had were terrifying. Giant creatures, with giant knives that stirred up your organs, but you’d never die. Being forced onto a giant pike, and dying there. Even when I tried to escape my nightmares, I could never stay awake long enough before I was forced back into them. 

After a series of these nightmares, I awoke to a dark figure come into my room. The lights were still off, and the only light in the room was streaming in from the hall. Was it a dream, or was it real? I yelled for it to get away, to not hurt me, but it came closer, and closer, while I couldn’t move from my spot in bed. It wouldn’t stop coming so I yelled and screamed before I saw who it was. 

It was Mom. She came back. When I saw her face, I truly woke up. For some reason I cried, and cried. Mom was as nice as ever. She patted my back, held me and shushed me. And after a while my tears stopped.

She asked me what I dreamed about. I told her I couldn’t remember. “You’re so sweaty, Sam. Frank said you even sweat through the sheets so he had to change them” she chuckled, while I froze at hearing his name. “You know, I’m sorry I had to leave you here when you’re sick. I know you boys fight.” I just nodded. Nothing good would come of me saying anything. 

Mom sighed. “Well, why don’t we get you changed out of those pajamas? They must feel pretty uncomfortable.”

I just stared at her with a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew I didn’t want to change clothes, but I wasn’t sure why. “Mom, don’t. I’m fine, okay?”

Mom was confused. “You’ll feel better, Sammy”. She then started to unbutton my pajama top, and I jumped out of bed and slapped her hand away. I was breathing hard, and my heart was racing.

“Sam I was just trying to-”

“NO!” I noticed how loud I was, but blood was rushing in my ears, and I couldn’t stop. “No- I mean.. Do I have to?”

Mom looked a little hurt. “What’s wrong? Was it the nightmare?”

I didn’t know what had gotten into me, but I couldn't calm down. My breath just kept coming faster and faster. “No! Just.. leave me alone.”

Mom knew this isn’t how I usually acted. “Did something happen? Is it because you’re sick? You can tell me, I won’t get mad.”

I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t even know what to say. 

Mom sighed, and then turned to turn the light on in my room. I guessed she decided to have one of her heart-to-heart conversations.

The sudden light burned my eyes, and so I shut them, but they snapped right open when I heard my Mother gasp.

I looked around the room to see what the issue was, but then I looked down. I couldn’t tell until I looked down. My sheets recently changed, were spotted red in the place I had just been sitting.

My skin turned cold. My hand grabbed at my pajama bottoms, and I could feel they were wet.

Mom was crying, and she ran and turned me around where I stood so she could have a look at my pants. “Oh god, Sammy. Oh, God.” I knew by her reaction they were probably red too.

With my Mother’s realization, combined with my own shock, I hadn’t noticed how unstable I felt standing on my feet. I must have started fainting then because the last thing I remember is my mom yelling my name and the feeling of indescribable terror of my secret being discovered.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> This sort of writing is notoriously hard to get right. I want to treat this topic with as much respect as possible, so I'd appreciate anyone letting me know how I did.
> 
> Also, let me know if you want a happy ending for Sam and I'll write one! Thank you again!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Momma knows.  
> It’s over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank to everyone who let me know that you wanted a happy ending! I’m telling you that I seriously tried to make it a happy ending, but I’m so used to writing sad, whumpy stories that this what I could muster. Please enjoy, and thank you for reading!! :D

Lydia watched her son back away from her like a wild Animal. She was surprised by his speed, he was so sluggish moments before. 

“No, Just leave me alone!”

She wasn’t completely surprised by this reaction, however. Sam had become so jumpy in the past few months along with an unexplained sadness. Lydia always told herself that she would have a talk with Sam-- to figure out why his demeanor changed so much, but she never got around to it. There was always work, and then taking care of the home, all alone. Dave, her husband couldn’t be there to help her. She had to be strong.

She wondered what it could have been. Her first thought was that Sam must have been bullied at school. That could explain why he seemed so scared of every movement you made, and seemed so hesitant to do...really anything. Walking, eating, and speaking were all things he’d look at you with a face of “is this what you want me to do?” She wondered if maybe he had a strict teacher perhaps, but parent-teacher conferences all went fine. Her son was happy in class for the most part and had plenty of friends, though he did seem a bit sad at times.

Lydia had no idea where this hesitation came from, but now seeing her son so scared, scared her. She had to have this conversation with her son now.

“Did something happen? Is it because you’re sick? You can tell me, I won’t get mad.”

The room was too dark to talk face-to-face, so naturally she walked over to flip the light on. When she turned around, her vision naturally caught onto the unnatural.

Red. Her son's sheets were dotted with blood.

Her son in front of her was pale, and sweaty and his face was full of terror. He looked far worse now than when she left him.

She ran to him, and flipped him around to see what she feared. Blood. And so much of it, all centered around his bottom.

Shock, and then terror rang through her head as her son's terror filled face, slackened and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

“Sammy!” she screamed. He tapped his face, shook him, and tried to do anything she could to wake him up, but the most he did was flutter his eyelids. 

A million things went through Lydia’s mind. Could it be cancer? Some forms of cancer in the intestines or colon can cause bleeding, and it could explain why he’s been feeling so sick. Or maybe he has another disease? Despite wanting to find out why then and there, she realized what was more important was getting Sam to a hospital and fast.

She considered calling 911, before realizing that it would be quicker to drive him there herself since the hospital was only 5 minutes away. She grabbed a blanket, wrapped him in it, and then picked him up. Sam was no longer so easy to carry, but right now he felt light. Too light, light like he'd slip out of her grasp and leave her for good.

  
  


She rushed outside the door, with every theory of how this happened running through her mind when she passed by Frank in the hall. 

She hardly looked at him at first. “Frank-- Sam’s really sick, I’m going to need you to..”

Her voice trailed off as she got a better look at her older son. Despite being in the same temperature room she was, he was sweating, but what was more important was the look in his eyes.

_ Oh no, not now _ she thought. Frank’s eyes held a gleam that she knew all too well now. He was probably on his circuit through the house of talking to himself when she saw him. His eyes were hollow, dead and strange enough, even for him, darting away from her own eyes. His posture, his demeanor.. He looked guilty. Her blood ran cold.

Oh god.

Maybe it was a Mother’s intuition. But just looking at him, she could tell that he had something to do with Sam’s current condition. Even if he didn’t cause it, he knew how it happened. Her stomach was twisted, in something she couldn’t explain at the time. Guilt? Disgust? All she knew was that at that moment she felt absolute revulsion to her older son.

Again, Lydia had to remind herself of the boy in her arms. She had to focus for her boy. “..Ok. Frank?” Her voice cracked. She was crying. “ I’m going to need you to stay here, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Frank nodded, and watched his Mother rush to the door. Before she could fully exit he called behind her, “It wasn’t my fault, mom. It wasn’t me, you believe me right? Mom?”

Lydia paused for a moment, almost turning around to face her older son, before continuing to lock the door behind her. Tears ran down her face. This feeling was called loss. She knew when she came back, things would be different forever for both of her boys.

**-Time Passes-**

Sam woke up to the sound of consistent beeping. He opened his eyes groggily to see that the source of that beep-beeping was the heart monitor he was apparently hooked up to. 

Looking down at his body, he apparently was hooked up to a lot of things. There was a tube that disappeared in his arm, that was hooked up to a bag above him, that dripped slowly. He got his bearings slowly, but he eventually realized that right now he was the patient in a hospital.

It looked like the hospital Mom works at, but he couldn’t be sure. He noticed his mother was by his bed; she looked to be asleep. Looking out of the window, he could tell it was still nighttime. With a start, Sam realized that it was still that same night. Still the same day when he got hurt by Frank. Sam began to panic. He realized that if he was in a hospital that means everyone probably knows what happened. They probably know how he couldn’t stop Frank from hurting him. That he let Frank do all stuff to him-- do they know how much? Do they know often Frank did his weird things? Do they even have that sort of technology to figure that stuff out? Most importantly, have they told Mom?

As Sam’s breath quickened, and the heart monitor’s ding-dinging increased it’s speed, he looked at his Mom’s face. She looked like she had been crying earlier with his red-rimmed eyes, and red nose. Sam felt guilty beyond belief for making her feel this way. If only he had been stronger, or smarter Mom wouldn’t have felt so bad. It felt like the walls were closing in on him, every touch of the blanket on his skin felt too rough. It was like his brain was on  _ fire _ .

His mom must have noticed his minute movements, because she woke up then. “Sam, you’re awake?” She said softly. She reached out her hard to touch him, but she quickly retracted it. When she did that, Sam’s face only further darkened. Sam’s voice was quiet, and choked with tears “I’m sorry Mom, I’m Sorry-” 

She felt the urge to shake him, or hug him-- anything. “No, no. Sam.. I’m the one who should be sorry.” she began to cry as well. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I should have helped you, I should have noticed..” 

Sam knew she’d be like this, that she’d be nice and there for him, but that only made him feel worse. He didn’t even want her to say those words. 

This moment was interrupted by a nurse walking into the room. She saw the two’s emotions, and started to back out the room, but Sam’s mom waved her in. 

The nurse spoke softly. “Hi, I’m Sarah. I’m your nurse for right now. How are you feeling Sam?”

Sam hadn’t noticed before, but he was uncomfortable. The way he was sitting but a lot of pressure on his bottom. Although it wasn’t excruciating like before, it was a dull sort of pain that made him feel a little sick. He also noticed his fever was gone, but the shakiness reamined. Sam felt as though he already messed up enough today. He shouldn’t add to anything.

Sam’s voice was quiet, “ I’m fine.” 

Sam’s mother looked at him worryingly. “Are you sure Sam?” Sam’s furrowed brow, and uncomfortable sitting position didn’t show it.

“I d-don’t know.” Sam looked down at the hospital blanket, as more tears rolled their way onto them. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say to make everything right. He didn’t know because he felt like it was already too late. He already messed up, and let everyone know.

Nurse Sarah walked briskly over, “It’s okay if it hurts Sam. We just want to know so we can help you feel better.” 

Sam didn’t want to look the nurse in the eyes for some reason and just nodded. “Yeah, it hurts.” He was ashamed to say it. Now that he was fully awake, every movement felt like it pulled on some part of him on the inside with piano wire. It definitely hurt. 

As the nurse busied herself doing something Sam wasn’t sure of, another face popped into the room. 

“Hello, Mrs. Anderson? Could we speak to you for a moment?”

Sam’s mother nodded, and smiled reassuringly at her son. “I’ll be right back.”

Sam could see that she was speaking to two people outside the door. His mother looked back into the room a few times, before agreeing, and walking back into the room with one of the people outside, a woman.

“Sam, I have to go do something really quickly, but I’ll be right back, okay? In the meantime, can you speak with Mrs. Lindsay here?”

She gestured to the woman who was smiling at me. “ She’s a social worker, which means she helps kids, and all sorts of people. I want you to tell her as much as you can, okay? Do your best, I love you.”

**Sam’s POV**

With that, Mom walked out the door, leaving me with the “social worker”, and the nurse finishing her work. Lindsay waited for the Nurse to finish, before she took a seat next to the bedside.

I stopped crying by then, and just ended up feeling extraordinarily awkward before Lindsay started speaking. “Thank you for letting me speak to you Sam, my name is Lindsay, and like your Mom said, I’m here to help you. I’m a social worker, and also a child psychologist.”

I just nodded and held my head down. 

Lindsay smiled softly. “Are you feeling tired Sam?” I nodded again. Lindsay nodded back. “That makes sense, it seems a lot of stuff happened today.”

I stiffened. Lindsay must have noticed. “Don’t feel like you have to say anything, Sam. I just want you to feel as comfortable as possible.”

This time I lifted my head to look into her eyes. She actually seemed nice. And that was good to know-- I did not feel like talking right now.

“You know when something really hurts like that, sometimes we feel really tired, or sad. How do you feel Sam?”

I gave the same answer I gave the nurse earlier. “Fine.”

Lindsay nodded again. “I see. Sam, it’s okay to feel anything right now. If you want to-”

I chose to interrupt her with a question that was burning me with it’s intensity. “How much does my Mom know? What did you tell her?”

“Okay, Sam. I’ll tell you, you can stop me at any time, okay?”

“We told you Mom what injured you had, and what we think that means. Of course, you can correct us, since this is just speculation, we’re just doing our best to piece together the situation. I have this drawing here, to try to explain better.”

She brought out a little drawing full of colors, but it was the anatomy of a person. She said a lot of words, some of them I caught, like “ Upper respiratory infection, which just means a cold that got a little out of hand and caused you to feel sick earlier today. There was also some other things that made us a little worried about you, Sam. If you look at this diagram here, this is called a...”but I could hardly focus on her words. Whatever she said, at the end of it, I felt dizzy, and the sinking feeling in my stomach was terrible.

“But that’s just what we think, Sam. Could you let us know what happened?” 

“I.. I don’t know.”

“How about we walk though it together?”

I told her about how I was sick that day, how I couldn’t focus in class, and how I got picked up. When I got the part where Frank came home, my words just stopped. I couldn’t get them out of me.

“He said that.. He has to take my temperature.” Lindsay looked concerned. 

“Did he do that?”

I slowly nodded my head before quickly shaking it.

“I don’t know. He didn’t use a thermometer..”

And so the conversation went like that, as slowly as it was. It even halted at points, but with Lindsay’s careful words, I was able to say everything that happened, even with the roundabout language I used. 

How could I explain without feeling terrible and embarrassed? Trying to find the “correct” words made my head go blank, so euphemisms like “his thing” that I used were confirmed by her which helped speed things along. By the end of it, I was fully in “robot mode” just to get it over with. My strategy was to answer as quickly as possible, so that I had to feel as little as possible, and there were no emotions in sight.

After it was all over, I asked the most pressing question to me “Are you going to tell my Mom this?”

Lindsay frowned a little. “Why do you ask that, Sam?”

My voice was pleading. “Mom shouldn’t have to know what I did. Mom’s too nice”

“Are you saying that because you’re scared? Of your Mom?”

I answered immediately and fiercely. “I’m not scared of Mom!”

That question threw me off. Was I scared? Of Mom? Of course not. But Frank? I was scared every day of my life at home when he was there. And now going back home, they’re sure to make me tell my mom. Would she think that we were just boys fighting? Or maybe would she not make me be around him anymore, I wonder. 

“Are you scared of Frank?”

My voice came out as a whisper. “Yes.”

Suddenly it hit me-- Mom wouldn’t make me stay around Frank. In a fluttering feeling in my chest, I realized I didn't feel as scared anymore. Despite Mom knowing, despite having to air out almost all the weird things that have happened in the past few months, I felt a little better. 

“Sam, thank you so much for telling me. You won’t have to see him anymore. Sam, your mom already knows some things. She knows about your injuries.. And even if we didn’t tell her, these injuries have few other likely causes. But Sam, you’re the one who gets to tell her what happened in your own way.”

Her words were encouraging, but my heart sank “So I have to tell her.”

“Sam, we’re not going to make you tell her, we can tell her for you, whatever works best for you.”

There were only two choices, and whatever the right answer, at the current moment, I was too exhausted to think. “I can’t do it.”

The social worker nodded. “Okay, we’ll tell her for you then. Sam, I have to go now, but your mother will be back very soon. Thanks for letting me talk to you!”

As she walked out of the door, Sam had no idea if he made a mistake or not, but whatever the nurse put in his bag connected to his arm made him not care so much about it, and eventually time passed.

A gentle knock came from the door. 

His mother entered looking tear-stained, and as harried as before, but not tears were actively falling down now; she was being strong. 

Sam watched her come into the room with rapt attention searching her face for any hint of dismissal, or anything adverse and he found nothing. “You know...everything?” His voice was quiet.

Forgoing whatever she had just heard from the psychologist who talked to her, she pulled her son into a hug, to which Sam readily accepted. “I’m sorry for not telling you I-”

Sam’s mother interrupted. “No, no, Sam. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry, for not seeing everything. All the signs-- I missed them all. You don’t have to see him anymore. I’ll make sure of it”

The thing Sam avoided, the thing he’d do anything to avoid telling was now out in the open. His biggest fear came true— But the world didn’t end. His mother wasn’t destroyed, she didn’t yell, or question him about all that happened. His mother was strong. And Sam felt good, just being here in the arms of his mother.

It was over, Sam thought. It was really over.

**Months later**

“Sam, hurry up! You don’t want to be late for school”

“Okay.” I rolled out of bed.

A lot has changed in the past few months.

We live alone now. While I was in the hospital, I told them what happened, and what has been happening for the last few months before I came there.

While I was in the hospital, I felt numb. Not just physically numb from the medications they gave me, but I didn’t feel like I was in my body. All that I feared happened, and everything was fine. Eventually I was well enough to go home, and even the medicine lacked power, and the tight feeling inside hurt me, I didn’t feel anything. Inside, outside. Going home was tough.

I found it out afterwards, but they even questioned my Mom to make sure it would be safe for me to go with her. The police even came, but it was a nice person, who asked me a lot of questions. Mom was there when I answered, so I didn’t feel scared.

I wasn’t there when Frank was taken in by the police, but I could tell Mom cried a lot when it happened. 

I don’t know what I was expecting— I thought I would have to go up on the stand and tell everybody what happened while some lawyer picked apart what I said. The that didn’t happen. But I didn’t, I just had to answer some questions, in a small room with my mom there. 

Then it seemed to be over. I’m not sure, but I think Frank is in a hospital. Mom said he was very sick, which is why he did all those bad things, but I don’t know. I just think Frank is bad, but I didn’t tell her that.

Now, I don’t have to be scared anymore. And when I come back from school today, I won’t worry about the bad things. I won’t be scared anymore. Even so, I still have nightmares. Sometimes I even feel like the things he did are happening again when I’m awake... or I just feel scared for no reason. That’s why I’m seeing the lady I met in the hospital earlier. She’s my therapist. I talked to her a couple days a week at first, but now I see her once a week. It’s hard talking to her sometimes, other times it’s fun. Talking to her makes me feel less messed up inside. Even so, I’m just so confused.

I just want to ask Frank why. I know he’s sick. Apparently things were going on I, or my parents didn’t know about. I understand that. Logically that’s the reason. I know that. Even so my brain just asks him over and over again, why?

Why couldn’t you just be a normal brother?

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank so much everyone who took the time to read this, and who took the time to write comments! I appreciated them so much, and they really helped me find the motivation to finish this story. I hope you enjoyed this, and that you found Sam’s story compelling.   
> :’) I seriously love y’all.


End file.
